Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [82]
‘And then when you touched me the same thing happened. I took your emotions and amplified them. Those feelings came out of you and into me. And they came out stronger. And they came out sort of – Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.’
The boys from the living room had come up. They were standing in the doorway of the bedroom now.
‘Maybe you should all hear this. Three people got killed at the mall last Friday,’ said Vincent. ‘Three of Bobby Prescott’s people. But I didn’t do it. You might say I helped. What really killed them was Calvin. His fear and anger. I just had the power to make those feelings turn into something real.’ He looked at the boys standing in the doorway, reluctant to enter the bedroom, but coming in slowly. ‘All that violence came out of him. I could see it. I could see Calvin’s feelings and his memories. Then it went through me. Then it came out. It tore up Calvin’s bicycle and built a monster out of it. Then it sent the monster after those people and killed them.’
The other boys joined Calvin and stood beside the bed looking down at Vincent. He felt the strange certainty that something was about to happen. So he spoke faster and faster, wanting to get the explanation out. ‘But, you see, it wasn’t my fault. Not all of it anyway. That monster came out of Calvin’s mind. Because that’s the way Calvin thinks. It’s the way you guys think. You play those horror games. Demons and monsters on your computers. You’re into gore software and Splatternetics. And maybe you believe in those demons and monsters just a little. So Calvin’s fear and anger took that form.’
The boys moved around either side of the bed. Calvin and Sean to his left, Warren and Guthrie to his right. ‘There’s really nothing to be afraid of. There aren’t really any demons or monsters, guys,’ said Vincent. He said it softly. Then he shouted it as loud as he could. It didn’t matter. He was only speaking the words in his mind. His numb lips and dry tongue were incapable of speech. Vincent wondered if he had managed to say anything at all. Maybe when Calvin had first come into the bedroom.
The boys were reaching down to the bed now and lifting him off it. Vincent didn’t struggle, of course. Maybe Vincent had been able to make a few feeble sounds to Calvin, or maybe he’d been completely silent, chattering away without saying a word. The whole conversation had been remarkably realistic, but sometimes hallucinations were like that. Hearing his own voice in his mind was no big deal. Vincent felt a little sorry that he hadn’t been able to explain things to Calvin, but it didn’t really matter.
The boys were carrying him out of the bedroom and down the hall now, two on either side of him, carrying him on their shoulders. Vincent couldn’t move at all. The drug had paralysed everything except perhaps his respiratory system. Perhaps that as well – now that he thought about it, he could feel his breathing slowing down. He wondered if he was about to die. The ceiling of the corridor was close to his face as they carried him. He saw cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling and he was pleased. His mom would have liked that. Rich people had cobwebs in their houses, too.
Vincent wondered what the drug was. Its effect was frighteningly pleasant. He felt relaxed and euphoric, even now. The boys were carrying him down the stairs to the living room. Rebecca Cox was sitting there on one of the big cushions. She glanced up as the boys carried Vincent past her, but her only expression was one of drowsiness. Vincent wasn’t surprised. She must have ingested some of the